


A Snip In Time

by Orchidaexa



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Blasphemy, Blood, Crossdressing, Eldritch Being Fucking, Halloween, Humiliation, Kidnapping, Mind Break, Multi, Omega Breaking, Poisoning, Rape, Size Difference, Torture, Uncle/Nephew Incest, angel fucking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-18 02:48:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28985124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Orchidaexa/pseuds/Orchidaexa
Summary: A collection of my snips that will likely never go any further than this.Tags will be updated as necessary.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Steve Rogers/An Angel
Kudos: 20





	1. Derek: Torture

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks Livvi for suggesting I get my dopamine like this!!
> 
> Guess I'll slap up the warnings at the start of each chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For this chapter:  
> Electricity, wolfsbane poisoning

Waking up, everything hurt. _Everything_. Electricity sometimes coursed through his body, regular shocks that burned and _hurt_. Derek was very careful not to react though, trying to maintain the illusion that he was still unconscious. 

He ran his tongue along the fuzzy backs of his teeth, swallowing a grimace at the taste, and being careful not to wince when it caught on his fangs. Blood flooded his mouth, and he spared a moment of frustration that electricity could so easily force the shift but keep them _so weak_.

After cataloguing his light headedness (wolfsbane, he could feel it stinging and scorching in his veins), Derek carefully extended his senses. The scent was ash, dampness, like a mausoleum. There was a nature freshness, so Derek figured he was in the tunnels, beneath the previous location of his burnt out house. The Hale House had been big, grand, and after the County had bulldozed the place, this was all that was left. 

The perfume that Derek had half expected wasn't there, Kate clearly not present. Not even a trace of her jaguar musk hung in the air, but there was the scent of scared human. Not just one, but multiple. Multiple scared and defensive humans, that were reacting like wild animals when cornered. 

He could smell gun oil, the acrid scent of gunpowder and aconite. Armed to the teeth, all of them. As for numbers… Derek concentrated on his hearing, pushing past the dull roar of his blood pushing through his arteries, the slightly unsteady thump of his poisoned heart. He counted three in the immediate vicinity, with muffled voices and footsteps further off. No chance to just hop out of this, it seemed. 

Flexing a wrist, he debated his next move. The combination of his predicament, the weakness from the electricity and the wolfsbane, and the fact that he hadn't even seen Scott yet left him… Feeling very vulnerable. Stiles was due to arrive in town soon, Derek had gone ahead to work out what was going on. Instead, he'd been immediately pegged as supernatural and grabbed. 

Beacon Hills _sucked_. 


	2. Stiles/Peter: Omega Breaking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings:  
> Kidnapping, omega breaking, mind break

Stiles was surprisingly lucid, for once. He'd spent the last few hours? Days? Weeks? He didn't really know how much time had passed, actually. But either way, he'd spent the last period of time in an unending cycle of vicious lust and soul wrenching emptiness. He hung in the bonds that kept him upright, sagging as his muscles complained with fatigue, jelly like. 

Footsteps entered the room. Stiles looked up, blearily focusing. Peter Hale stood there, looking all too smug. 

"Hello, omega." A thrill went down Stiles' spine, and he shivered. 

"Aren't they lone wolves, Peter?" rasped out Stiles, taking a slow breath in and out. The wolf shrugged. 

"Usually. But there are _other_ types of omegas that are a lot more-" Peter paused dramatically, grinning that grin with too many teeth. "- _fun_." 

Stiles considered his options, and tugged at the shackles holding him, weak as a kitten. They barely rattled. "So, are you gonna villain monologue, tell me what's going on here?" His bravado was a big front, and he knew that Peter knew that. Even so, the wolf gave him an indulgent laugh, tilting his head to eye up Stiles. 

"You, my dear omega, are a _gift_." He paused and stepped closer, and Stiles tried to arch towards him, unable to stop the way his body craved the touch of someone, anyone. "Since you came here, you've been fed with the taste of an alpha, your new alpha, and soon the magic rites will happen that will… _Cement_ your future." 

Peter began to circle around Stiles, looking him up and down. "You know, had Deaton educated you, you would have been protected. But your little spark is the whole reason this is possible, darling." He finally reached out, touching Stiles' chin, tilting it to meet his eyes, and Stiles moaned at the heat that rolled through him.

Ice cold blue eyes fixed on Stiles’ own, even as Stiles went fuzzy again. The touch was making it hard to think, his needy body straining to meet Peter’s. The wolf laughed, eyes flashing bright. “You won’t mind so much, omega. In fact,” Peter said, fangs visible when he smiled, “you’ll love it.”


	3. Stiles/Derek/Peter: Little Red Derek

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Derek loses a bet to Peter.
> 
> Warnings: Crossdressing, humiliation, incest

Everything about this situation was humiliating. Derek couldn’t believe he’d lost a bet to _Peter_ , and that this was the forfeit. He tried not to think about the older wolf getting his kicks from this costume, this stupid _humiliating_ costume. He tried to ignore his dick twitching slightly, ignore the warmth that spread in the twisting pit of his stomach, pulling at the stupid frilly hem. The lace twisted in his fingers, and he carefully flattened it back down, ignoring a look from one of the pups in Scott’s pack.

This didn’t fit him right, and Derek was currently trying to meld with the wall. His chest was too flat to fill out the ruffled chest, even if the corset style middle did make him look like he had a tiny waist. At least he could hide under the stupid red hood of the cape. Seriously. _Little Red Riding Hood_ , like he was some damsel and not a _werewolf_. He was sure that Peter was getting off on this, dead certain that his uncle had a thing for being the big bad _wolf_. 

Whatever. He clutched his candy basket (and seriously, fuck you Peter, even if this was convenient and easy to hide things like his phone and keys and wallet in, he’d much rather be digging those things out of his _pockets_ ) and edged towards the food table, slices of pizza lying mostly abandoned in boxes.

Stiles barging in—late as usual—interrupted the movement of pizza to mouth. A slice of mushroom dropped off the triangle, and Derek stared.

Stiles was- There was- He was dressed as a _cat_. And not just any cat, this was clearly a _sexy_ cat, and the boy was sauntering through with no shame, just a latex catsuit clinging to his skin that showed absolutely _no_ panty lines, fluffy brown ears in his hair. 

Derek made a noise like a deflating balloon. He stuffed the pizza in his mouth to hide it, especially when Scott threw Derek a look that was definitely concerned. He’d been giving Derek those glances all night, like he was checking that he was safe and okay. He’d been responding to the alpha with deep glares, trying to intimidate Scott into _not asking_.

Right now, however, Derek couldn’t take his eyes off Stiles, who was, in typical fashion, busy flitting from person to person, saying hello. There was even a moment where he’d slunk across to Peter, swaying his hips, fluffy tail (there was a _tail_! It was fluffy! A _tail_!), and the older man had spent his time with his eyes flitting between Derek and Stiles, something calculating in his gaze. If he’d been in the right state of mind to register this, Derek may have felt something adjacent to fear. As it was, his mind was currently bluescreening, refusing to reboot.

He only shook himself out of his daze when Lydia came over and touched his arm. 

“You understand what’s going on here, don’t you?” she said, pushing a drink into his hand. Derek sipped, still feeling something that could generously be described as ‘ _poleaxed_ ’.

“What?” asked Derek, gormlessly, before his brain caught up with him.

Before he could try to take it back, Lydia’s smile gained a feral edge. Her hand slipped into the crook of his elbow, and she pressed herself against his side.

“Stiles and Peter are going to get _everything they want_ ,” she cooed, and Derek looked back to where Stiles was grinning triumphantly, hand sliding up Peter’s thigh, Peter’s hand on his waist. His heart dropped, something awful, before his eyes caught the intense predatory gaze of _Peter_. He was watching, cataloguing Derek’s every move, every little tug to the frilled hem, every little pull to make sure the stockings stayed up, and Derek felt caught, seen and _ensnared_ , like a rabbit before slavering jaws. He shivered, watching as Peter leaned forwards to whisper in Stiles’ ear, eyes still fixed on him. He watched as Peter leaned back, a self-satisfied smirk on his face. Stiles pivoted to face Derek, slinking his way towards him, every inch of him screaming _desire_. Lydia chuckled, adjusted the bow that kept the cape around his shoulders, and flounced off.

“Hey, Big Guy,” purred Stiles, just loud enough for Derek to hear him. “I heard you lost a bet-?”

It was pitched as a question, even though Derek _knew_ that Stiles knew the answer. With a total lack of ability to engage his vocal chords, he stuck to nodding. Moon above, Stiles was going to kill him with that sweep of his honeyed eyes, checking him out from head to toe. His dick was well on its way to hard, trapped in the briefs he was so _glad_ that Lydia had found for him, the black fabric hiding the swell of his length. Derek tugged the edge of his skirt again, just to be safe. 

Stiles slipped his fingers up Derek’s arm, pausing to swirl the hair around his fingertips. “You see, Sourwolf,” he said, pressing himself closer, warmth leaking into Derek’s skin. “I _may_ have been the one to… come up with this plan.” His breath was hot, gusting across Derek’s neck, and his voice was quiet, barely audible above the music and chatter around them. “Selfish reasons, the idea of you in a dress and stockings was just too hard to _resist_.”

Derek made a strangled noise, his eyes darting to where Peter was sitting, eyes intent. “You and Peter?” he asked, the words choking in his throat.

Stiles gave an actual, honest to god, flirty purr as he rubbed against Derek. The bluescreen of death flashed through Derek’s mind again as he froze up. “And you, if you wanted,” offered Stiles, leaning in to run his cheek across Derek’s shoulder and neck. It ended with Stiles’ teeth digging into his earlobe, and Derek whimpered. Desire and lust and arousal were simmering in his stomach, his hands falling to Stiles’ waist, fingers twitching as he tried to work out whether to drag the boy closer or push him away. The latex squeaked in response.

“Uhm. Stiles?”

The words came from Scott, and Derek breathed something that was between disappointment and relief when Stiles stepped back.

“What’s up, Scotty?” asked Stiles, eyes still on Derek’s.

“I just- I have a few things to ask,” said Scott, and Stiles winked, turning to face Scott. Derek slumped, and watched as Scott pulled Stiles off somewhere else. It was- It was too much, and Derek turned to slink away, slink out of this party before anyone got any more involved with him.

“Going somewhere, nephew?” drawled Peter, appearing at Derek’s shoulder. His stomach swooped, his back tensing as every ounce of teenaged embarrassment flooded his system at once. 

“Yeah,” said Derek, forcing himself to step forward. Peter caught his wrist, clamping it with a hold too tight to shake loose, soft fingers caressing the veins just beneath his skin. “Home.” Before he made an idiot of himself, he didn’t say, because it felt far too vulnerable.

Peter chuckled, crowding into Derek’s space. “But Stiles has only _just_ started to have his fun, Derek,” he cooed, his finger tracing the top edge of ruffles through the cape. “You wouldn’t want to deprive him of that now, would you?”

Shivering reluctantly, Derek tried to pull his wrist away from Peter again.

Stiles’ warmth crowded against his other shoulder, having apparently escaped Scott’s clutches. “Yeah, Derek,” he breathed, and Derek’s heart stuttered. He was concentrating very hard on not showing outward reactions, and things just kept sneaking through. “You wouldn’t deprive me of my _fun_ , would you?” Out of the corner of Derek’s eye, he saw Stiles’ eyelashes bat.

They were both assholes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd love to continue this, but it feels too nicely rounded so my muse has like, kicked her feet up in smug satisfaction.


	4. Steve Rogers/An Angel: Eldritch Monster Fucking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is REALLY FUN  
> warnings:  
> probably a lot of blasphemy  
> Eldritch beings  
> Overstimulation

The Holy light burned through Steve's veins. It was a constant of too much, not enough, God's gift all for himself. 

The Angel watched on, hands no longer covering its many eyes, as it touched Steve, pressed a finger over his heart, infused him with bright _painpleasureboiling_. He was simultaneously scorching out of his skin and being frozen, soothing even as it shone so brightly that he couldn't hold back the cries of fear and love and pain. 

It was like an eye of the universe had opened, and turned directly on him, a watchful gaze that _loved_ and demanded fear, respect, worship. It was so much, it wasn't enough, Steve needed it more than he needed oxygen but he just wanted to shy away, hide from the vision of God. 

Choking, Steve sobbed, even as his balls drew up and his dick swelled. _Divine ecstasy_ didn't even come close to describing this, but it was all he had. He needed, he wanted, he hated, he loved, he feared and worshipped and couldn't do anything but writhe, trying not to swallow his own tongue, desire and love dripping from every pore. 

It was bliss, a terrible infinity of the most beautiful, awful sounds, clear bells and sweet choirs that sang in registers and languages Steve couldn’t comprehend, couldn't hear without knowing that his head would surely implode, destruct under the beauty of it. Nothing and everything collided, and Steve came in overwhelmed tears. The orgasm that was ripped from him was nothing compared to this hateful, fearful, loving forever. 


	5. Stiles/Werewolf: Rape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles meets a terrible horrible werewolf.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings:  
> Rape, Size Difference, Blood

"No! Get _off_!" yelled Stiles, pushing hard at the werewolf's muzzle, his shoulders, kicking his legs in distress. 

The werewolf hunkered down over Stiles, thick cock already fully erect, dripping, and really _really_ concerning him. It was solid, panting, the stench of raw meat buffeting Stiles' senses, pink tinting the saliva that dripped between sharp teeth. 

"Get the _fuck_ off me! Mangy mutt!" the werewolf simply pinned Stiles' head in response, squeezing with a huge furred and clawed hand. The pressure was enough for Stiles to fall still, the implication that the wolf could pop his head like a balloon being telegraphed very clearly. 

Instead, his body began to shake and shiver. He'd tried a couple of runes already, but his focus kept slipping, and now he couldn't speak, and he couldn't see what his hands were doing and he was _helpless_ against a feral alpha.

The werewolf shredded his top and pants, no consideration given,and Stiles was left shivering in the cool night air. 

"You don't want me!" squeaked Stiles, putting as much belief as possible into the words. "I'm a guy! You can't breed me! I don't lubricate!" 

Tilting his head, the feral alpha considered him, the scrawny little spark that was tense on the wet ground. 

It snorted, and licked a long stripe from cock to neck. Unfortunately for Stiles, his boner was the kind that responded particularly well to fear and anxiety. Also unfortunately for Stiles: he had a huge heaping of _both_ of those _right this second_. He was trembling, trying to get his mouth around runes to make the werewolf forget, to make the werewolf be paralysed or suddenly remember it's humanity or literally anything that might get Stiles out of this situation _right fucking now_. 

But this was a new kind of fear, and he could feel his breath catching in his chest and he'd _couldn't remember a damn thing_. Stiles whined, and stared into the depths of the forest, hoping and wishing that someone, _anyone_ would be able to break out of the treeline, come save him. 

Stiles didn't need saving, not normally. Right now, all he wanted was to see yellow eyed wolves pouring into the clearing, despite his forced nudity. He'd take anything over this. 

The wolf didn't take much longer, sniffing at Stiles with the ugly muzzle, its patchy fur rippling over thick muscles, before it grabbed and hauled Stiles into position. He was left face down in the dirt, spitting out dead leaves, and clawing at the ground. He couldn't get away, not with sharp claws digging into his skin. Wet trails of blood were trickling across the pale flesh. 

With a grunt, the werewolf shoved his way inside Stiles, hot and hard, no preparation. Stiles _howled_ , his back arching, and sobbed without shame. 

He was going to die here, he thought, dizzying pain spiraling through his core. He was going to die, and all they would find was his used and bloodied corpse. 

Stiles cried harder.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm open to prompts, so long as you don't mind it being. Well. Not very long, I guess.


End file.
